Page 76 of Love in the Lab
We learn there are two options: outdoor gondola rides and indoor gondola rides. I kind of want to try them both, but I settle on the indoor option; I figure that an indoor canal is more of a novelty than an outdoor canal.
We follow the signs inside to the ticket booth and buy tickets. I look around and am suddenly glad we chose the indoor gondola ride. It looks amazing in here. On either side of the canal, the shops are set up to look like Italian cafes with arches and balconies. The ceiling is painted to look like a bright blue sky with fluffy cirrocumulus clouds.
When it’s our turn, we’re ushered onto a gondola. We sit side by side facing the gondolier, who wears black pants with a black-and-white horizontal-striped shirt and a bright red ascot loosely tied around his neck. On his head, he has a flat-brimmed straw hat with a red ribbon around its base.
An older couple takes the bench facing us. Once everyone is settled, the ride operators take a photo of each couple, and we’re told we can purchase ours at the end of our ride. Then, the gondolier pushes off, and we’re floating down the man-made canal.
I snuggle closer to Jonathan, who has his arm wrapped around my shoulders. I peer up at him. He’s looking everywhere, trying to take everything in. When his gaze lands on me, he smiles and presses a kiss to my cheek.
“Will you take our picture, please?” the woman across from me asks. She looks to be about my mother’s age, with light brown skin and curly gray hair coiled short on top of her head. The laugh lines around her eyes are pronounced, creasing the skin at the corners like beams of joy radiating from her face.
“Oh, sure,” I agree.
She hands me her phone. I snap a couple of shots, being careful to position it so the background is mostly canal, rather than people-filled sidewalk or gondolier.
“Thank you,” she says when I give the phone back. “Want me to get a few of you?”
I look at Jonathan. He grins and nods. “Sure, thank you.” I fish my phone out of my pocket and open the camera app for her.
We take one with our faces pointed toward the camera, and then the woman says, “Now look at each other.”
We do, and I can’t help but notice the happy shine in Jonathan’s eyes. Warmth fills my chest. He really does love me. Maybe even as much as I love him, which is saying something, because my feelings are deep and wide like the ocean. Now that I’m in, I’m diving farther and farther down, love compressing my body and soothing my senses. I’m suspended, floating weightless.
The woman holds out my phone, drawing my attention back to her. “Here you go. I’m Angela, by the way, and this is my husband, Luther.”
“Molly and Jonathan,” I respond.
“How long have you two been married?” she asks.
I flash Jonathan a panicked look, but, laughing, he gestures for me to answer. “Oh, um, we’re not married.” I stutter.
Her eyes twinkle as she tilts her head. “No?”
I shake my head in confirmation, feeling my cheeks turning red. Next to me, Jonathan quakes with silent laughter.
“Too bad,” she says with a broad smile. “But you’re certainly in the right city to fix that problem.”
My eyes widen just as Angela’s husband speaks up. “Angela and I got married right here in Las Vegas thirty years ago this week. Best decision I ever made.” He shoots Jonathan a wink.
“Happy anniversary,” Jonathan says with a grin. He squeezes my shoulder.
Talking about marrying Jonathan is making me feel nervous, but curiously, not in a ready-to-panic kind of way. It’s more of a flutter-in-my-stomach kind of way, almost … excitement? I’m too self-conscious about how I’m feeling to look at Jonathan, so I focus on the sights around us.
Small fountains on the brick walls lining the canal shoot streams of water behind us as we travel under bridges and around corners.
Then, the gondolier starts to sing! His clear baritone voice belts out an Italian aria as he pushes the pole around the bottom of the canal to propel us forward.
I’m enchanted, at least until Jonathan leans down to whisper in my ear. “Look at his name tag.”
I do and immediately bite back a laugh. The name tag says, “Chet” in a swooping cursive font. I press my face into Jonathan’s chest to stifle my mirth.
An Italian gondolier named Chet. I lift my head until I’m looking at Jonathan. “Only in Vegas,” I say, matching his gleeful smile.
When our ride is over and we disembark, we wander over to the photo stand where we can view and purchase the photo the ride operator took of us when we first boarded. It’s a cute picture of us, and we consider it, but I scroll through the pictures Angela took.
I’m fixated on one where Jonathan and I are gazing at each other, starry-eyed and looking very much in love, with the scenes of fake Venice behind us. We don’t buy the overpriced photo. Jonathan agrees this one is perfect.
We finish our first day in Las Vegas at the Bellagio Fountains, then head across the street to Paris Las Vegas where we see the Eiffel Tower replica and grab a casual dinner at a French bakery that sells sandwiches and pastries.
